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TO  CARDENIO 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF 


PLATEN 


BY 


REGINALD  B.  COOKE,  Ph.  D. 


ITHACA,  NEW  YORK 
1919. 


Entered  in  the  Library  of  Congress, 

ana  Copyright.     1919.  by 

R.  B.  COOKE 


v^^ 


^OTGTJDord 


In  submitting  to  a  small  circle  of  readers  these 
further  translations  from  Platen,  there  is  no  occas- 
ion to  repeat  what  has  been  said  by  way  of  preface 
to  my  translations  of  the  Sonette  aus  Venedig,^ 

The  eight  sonnets  which  constitute  the  series 
An  Cardenio  were  composed  between  November, 
1 822  and  May,  1 823.  So  far  as  can  be  ascertain- 
ed none  of  them  has  been  hitherto  translated  into 
English. 

These  sonnets,  like  those  addressed  some  years 
later  to  Karl  Theodor  German,  are  not  perhaps 
wholly  in  accord  with  modern  taste,  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  Platen  was  a  thorough  classicist, 
hardly  less  in  the  content  and  inspiration  of  his 
work  than  in  his  craftsmanship. 


^Madison.  Wis.,   1914. 


79i^ 


The  rhyme-scheme  of  these  translations  is  agadn 
identical  with  that  of  the  originals,  and  every  at- 
tempt has  been  made  toward  a  literal  rendering. 

The  rhyming  of  the  sestets  in  the  first  and 
second  of  these  sonnets  is  quite  unusucJ  with 
Platen,  and  although  it  is  the  method  predominant 
with  all  the  IteJian  Masters  excepting  Ariosto,  it 
appears  inferior  to  the  double  alternating  rhyme 
which  Petrarch  employed  with  hardly  less  frequen- 
cy, and  which  is  regularly  found  in  Platen  and  Rii- 
ckert. 

Cornell  University.  R.  B.  C. 


I. 

TJITHER  compelled,  perplexed  at  heart  lest  you 

I  should  not  find,  I  traced  my  steps,  a  prey, 
All  for  my  love  of  thee,  to  dark  dismay. 
Lest  hope  should  vanish  like  a  dream  untrue. 
A  thousand  times  estranged,  alas!  we  two 
Had  parted  each  upon  his  lonely   way, 
And  bitter  was  our  last  farewell  that  day. 
Nor  clasped  we  hands,  as  friends  are  wont  to  do. 
Where  thou  wert  tarrying  how  might  I  know? 
What  friends  meanwhile  enjoyed  thy  company 
And  fond  affections  how  could  I  surmise? 
And  if  at  last  I  had  not  found  thee?     Oh, 
I  will  forget  this  futile  If,  for  he 
Whom  long  I  sought  stands  now  before  mine  eyes. 


II. 

IV/f  Y  friend,  as  yet  you  seem  but  young,  for  Ah! 

Little  you  know  what  burdens  we  endure, 
Or  how,  when  many  a  time  we  feel  most  sure 
The  goal  is  nigh,  th'  event  doth  sadly  mar 
Our  hopes.     Youth  follows  still  its  lucky  star 
Whithersoever  fortune  may  allure; 
Old  age  yet  lingers  pondering  by  the  shore, 
Or  treads  the  bridge  to  barren  lands  afar. 
You  are  too  young  as  yet  to  comprehend 
How  oft  in  vain  the  spirit  seeks  repose. 
Turning  now  north  now  south  in  ceaseless  quest. 
And  Oh,  I  pray  that  never  mayst  thou  lend 
Thy  youthful  days  to  succor  one  who  knows 
Life's  weariness,  but  not  the  joys  of  rest. 


III. 

\X7HEN  first  I  saw  thee, though  perchance  by  pride 

A  captive  held,  to  me  you  seemed  most  fair. 
The  glasses  rang  and  voices  filled  the  air, 
And  soon  thou  wast  departed.      Far  and  wide 
I  meanwhile  roamed,  yet,  not  to  be  denied, 
A  longing  filled  my  heart,  and  waxes  there 
Till,  like  an  avalanche  of  snow,  it  dare 
To  bury  us  beneath  its  swelling  tide. 
And  when  anew  I  found  thee,  more  and  more 
I  truly  learned  lo  love  thee,  and  again 
Parted,  again  we  met.     So  fortune  bore 
Us  hence  and  hither  in  the  fated  train 
Of  everchanging  hours.      Alone  I  saw 
Thy  beauty  and  thy  pride  unchanged  remain. 


IV. 

VI7ELL  I  recall  that  bitter  winter's  night, 

More  exquisite  than  any  night  in  spring, 
When  I,  my  friend,  could  watch  thee  carrying 
A  torch,  so  to  direct  me  by  its  light 
Upon  our  solitary  path.     How  bright 
And  beautiful  the  myriad  sparks  would  fling 
Abroad  their  radiant  showers,  as,  in  a  ring. 
You  whirled  the  fiery  fagots  left  and  right. 
The  distant  orbs  were  envious  to  see 
Thy  torch's  beams,  yet  lovingly  the  Wain 
Seemed  with  its  seven  stars  to  beckon  thee. 
Tis  in  such  hours  as  these  our  thoughts  remain 
Too  willingly  unspoken.     Who  would  be 
So  bold  as  to  surmise  their  silent  train? 


V. 


CCARCE  dare  I  touch  thy  locks,  and  so  to  me 

It   seems  the  haughty  cap,   so  closely  drawn 
Upon  thy  curly  hair  as  but  to  adorn 
Thy  beauty,  ev'n  more  enviable  must  be 
Than   were    the   gold   of  true   maturity. 
I   envy,   too,    this  pipe,  happily  worn 
By  kisses;   yet  swift  as  the  smoke  is  borne 
From  sight,   so  fickle  is  thy  constancy. 
Forswear,   I    pray,    thy  pride;   be  not  so  rough 
As  to  begrudge  me  still  the  curling  rings 
Which  you  permit  even  to  that  dead  stuff. 
And  deem  me  worthy,   so  the  future  brings 
To  me  the  fortunes  of  thy  pipe.      Enough; 
I  am  thy  slave  if  you  but  grant  these  things. 


VI. 

A  LONE  with  thee,   what  utter  happiness 

Were  mine  to  share  thy  silent  thoughts,  which  vow 
'Twixt  us  an  end  to  doubt  — while  gay  throngs  now 
Pass  to  and  fro  — and  stealthily  to  press 
Thine  hand.     And  then  my  gaze  in  rapt  duress 
Must  tarry  where  a  thousand  charms  endow 
Thy  features;   on  thy  moving  lips,    and  brow, 
And  eyes,   and  all  thy  youthful  comeliness. 
1  am  not  borne  away  at  the  behest 
Of  some  mean  thirst  for  love.      Rather  to  me 
Thy  favor  grants  repose;   and  for  the  rest 
1   am  disturbed  by  no  anxiety 
Nor  fear  to  lose  my  well-won  prize.      Thus  blest 
Am  I  by  fortune  — everlastingly. 


I 


VII. 


drank  th'  o*erflowing  cup  of  death;   yet  not 
That  which  the  world  calls  death,  for  happy  they 
Already  in  the  coffin  laid  away 
And  lowered  with  ropes  to  some  abysmal  spot. 
Oh,  were  I  but  departed  and  forgot. 
And,  shrouded  all  in  white  as  cold  I  lay, 
Borne  forth  in  ceremonious  array. 
With  friends  to  dedicate  the  broken  plot. 
Alas!      I   have  no  confidants,    no  friends. 
I   steal  in  silence  past  the  merry  fun 
Of  revelers,  and  no  one  comprehends 
My  loneliness;  yet  even  now  the  sun 
Too  long  has  warmed  me,   for  my  gaze  but  lends 
Strength  to  my  grief  until  my  course  be  run. 


VIII. 

TXT^HAT  do  you  care  for  all  my  tears  distressed 

By  day  and  night  outpoured!   The  blood  might  si 
From  out  mine  eyes,  yet  wouldst  thou  ne'er  impart 
To  me  thy  pity.    Had  I  unsuppressed 
Cherished  some  guilty  passion  in  my  breast 
Whenever  we  had  chanced  to  meet  or  part, 
Then  it  were  just  that  thou  shouldst  bar  thine  heart, 
And   that  thine  enmity  should  be  confessed. 
But  I  had  sworn  to  be  for  ever  true, 
Until  with  piercing  looks  of  proud  disdain 
You  drove  me  hence.      Alas!   what  shall  I  do? 
Thy  bitter  hatred  renders  all  in  vain; 
For  always  still  thy  cruel  words  pursue 
My  every  thought,  and  drive  my  mind  insane. 


/ 


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